nephilim56

HIDDEN VOICES

The gentle lapping
Of foreign waves
Kissed barnacled wood
Now enslaved.

Frozen gaze
Rides train of thought
Hidden voices
Silent choices.

A low mass drains
In peppered Latin
Incense and ribbon
Stained glass latticed.

Beyond a dream
Or idle thought
Over a hill
Superstition caught.

In wonder still
Mans fears trapped
As those foreign waves
About me lapped.